


Pariah

by gakarian



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood Magic, Emetophobia, Familial Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:09:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7491054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gakarian/pseuds/gakarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian Pavus is a well-known altus mage, born to the prestigious House Pavus of Qarinus in the Tevinter Imperium.  He's known for being a powerful mage and a willful man with a heart of gold, despite his sarcastic, sassy nature.  But he also suffers from severe, traumatic flashbacks, caused by an incident of abuse by his own father.  Rather than facing it, Dorian flees for his safety, then locks it away, along with his feelings about it all.  "The Imperium is a land of lies built upon secrets built upon falsehoods," he once told the Inquisitor.  But Lavellan didn't know how Dorian knew this from experience. Inquisitor Lavellan and Dorian Pavus work together to help ease the symptoms of the mage's past trauma, and grow closer because of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pariah

Pariah: noun.

1\. An outcast.

2\. Any person or animal that is generally despised or avoided.

3\. Dorian Pavus, a well-known altus mage, born to the prestigious House Pavus of Qarinus in the Tevinter Imperium.

The man's lips and tongue were scorched from the tea he'd very quickly chugged down, trying to shock his body out of the early morning grogginess he was facing. Except it wasn't nearly morning yet; it was barely after midnight, and he'd just woken up from a nightmare. Shaking uncontrollably, both from the cold of his room and the unswaying fear that struck his body, he set the teacup down on his dresser, letting his head hit the pillow. "Maker's knickers," he quietly cursed to himself, rubbing his face with his frigid hands. Cold sweat dripped down onto his hands, and he wiped them off on the blanket underneath him.

He couldn't stop thinking about his father, the look on his face when he begged for his forgiveness.

Wrapping his hand around his throat as he tried to swallow that image down, he closed his eyes. A different image came in its place, clearer than day, and he immediately lurched over the side of the bed, retching onto the floor.

It was the look on his father's face as he pretended to sleep... moments before he cut his hand, blood magic pouring out of the wound.

His eyes throbbed at the image, and he puked again. He hadn't eaten in days; all that was coming up was poorly digested alcohol. Eventually, it was reduced to dry, loud heaving, the only liquid coming out of his body being the tears pouring from his eyes.

"Dorian!" He almost didn't hear it at first, until he felt a warm hand on the back of his neck. "Dorian, it's okay! I'm here, it's okay," came the soft voice of Inquisitor Lavellan, and his hand trailed down to his back, rubbing gently. "Listen to me, Pavus, everything's okay."

Finally, he managed to block out the other image, squeezing his eyes shut and only listening to Lavellan's words. His throat felt like someone stabbed it with a million daggers, and he was having a hard time breathing. He hadn't had an episode like this since he joined the Inquisition; why now?

"Are you okay?" Lavellan asked worriedly, reaching into his pocket to grab a handkerchief. When he leant in to wipe the spit from Dorian's mouth, Dorian jerked away, staggering up, grabbing at his own head. "Dorian?"

"Stop," was the only word he could choke out, and Lavellan did, sitting for a moment.

"I'll... go get a servant to clean this up." Lavellan's voice was low, as if raising his voice in the slightest would send Dorian into another attack. "Take your time." He left the room quickly, leaving Dorian to lean against the only window in his room, trying to keep himself from heaving again.

What his father did to him was horrific, but it wasn't just him the blood magic ritual affected; it was everything else afterwards that made him question who he was, what he was. He'd had to retrain himself to remember that being himself was an unavoidable thing, a good thing that he had to accept, no matter what his father had said and done. But sometimes, instead of the gentle touch of a lover, he would feel his father's magic on him, the burn and bubbling of blood magic meant to change him. "For the better of your future," his father claimed.

But that wasn't what it was for, he reminded himself. It was for the better of his father's future, the better of the family's reputation. And he wasn't a part of that family anymore, as far as he knew.

It felt like hours passed before he finally convinced himself again, leaning against his window, that he wasn't going to die, that his father wasn't there, plotting to rearrange his only son's mind. Instead, all he saw was the cleaned stain of his puke on the wooden floor, and the sweet sight of Lavellan, standing in the doorway.

"Dorian?" The sound of his lover's soft voice brought him back out of his mind, his heart still pounding but less than before.

"I'm sorry."

"Sit down, Dorian, you just threw up five mugs of ale." Lavellan walked around the stain, taking Dorian's arm. Dorian almost jerked away again, but he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as Lavellan led him to the bed again. "I would know, I watched you throw them all back pretty quickly last night."

A small crack of a smile found itself on Dorian's face as he sat. "I... I have a high tolerance for alcohol. I remember I held in more than... than you did, at any rate."

"I didn't drink a lot in the clan, Pavus." Lavellan gave a cheeky grin, running his hand up and down Dorian's back again. "I'll be at your level eventually."

"Maker, I hope not."

Lavellan laughed, but the smile soon faded. "That wasn't it, though, was it?"

Dorian sighed, reaching up and running his fingers through Lavellan's hair. It was always so calming to do, and the elf didn't mind in the slightest. It was one of his newest habits. "Nightmares."

"I don't want you to think I'm being patronizing, love." Lavellan looked up at him, biting the inside of his cheek. "Do you need to talk about it?"

Dorian could only laugh, running a finger down the braid that lined the side of Lavellan's face. "Nothing so traumatizing." What a Maker-damned lie. "You won't... leave yet, though, will you?"

"Of course I won't."

"Good. I feel as though I'm lacking quite a bit of time with my favorite magically marked elf."

Lavellan laughed, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning into him. "Same with me and my drunkard necromancer."

"Ouch. That stung." Dorian pressed his lips to the top of the other's head. "I'll have to get you back for that one when I'm not feeling like nug dung."

"I'll look forward to it, Pavus."

Eventually, Lavellan had to return to his quarters, but only after spending a good amount of time snuggled up to the Tevinter mage. Even with such an extraordinary man by his side, he still felt that bubble of doubt circling around him.

Gulping down the rest of his tea, he grimaced. It had become cold a while ago.


End file.
